


Lucky Number Seven

by spacemonkey



Category: U2
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 04:30:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4005910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacemonkey/pseuds/spacemonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edge likes numbers. Bono thinks his numbered shirts are cool. Set during Elevation tour. It's a bit cracky, truth be told</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucky Number Seven

Edge liked numbers. He could never really give a reason why when people asked, whether it was the way they looked, the way they went together, the way they could be used in so many different ways; he just liked numbers. It was early December and he’d found himself in Los Angeles doing some quick Christmas shopping to bring back home when he’d found a red shirt with the number seven printed on it, and on a whim he’d thrown it in with the rest of the loot.

Bono took interest one night when the heating was up too high for layers and Edge stripped down to just his shirt. “Why seven?” he asked, tracing the number with a finger. When Edge shrugged, Bono grinned and murmured, “You and your numbers.” Soon enough, the shirt came off and the next morning when Edge padded into the kitchen shirtless, there was Bono making coffee wearing only a sleepy smile and the number seven.

He’d almost forgotten about that day when it came time for serious discussions about the tour, and as always, Bono had ideas upon ideas, and in the midst of discussing the stage he turned to Edge and said, “You should get more numbers.”

“I – what?”

“Shirts, Edge, numbered shirts. I think they’d be great for the tour.”

Edge didn’t know how long Bono had been sitting on that idea, or why exactly, but he wasn’t really going to disagree. The shirts would be comfy and easy, and after the wardrobe of their last tour, comfy and easy was something he could get on board with.

“Why?” Larry asked after a beat of silence, but the bored look on his face told Edge he didn’t really care about the answer.

Bono shrugged and looked at the table. “I think they’re cool.”

“Can I wear shirts with letters?” Adam asked.

“No, Adam.”

“Can we get back to the stage?” Larry grumbled.

A few weeks later, Edge was presented with a stack of shirts, the majority of which were red, all with different numbers on them.  They were comfy, they were easy, and they made Bono grin. He didn’t really know why, he guessed Bono just liked numbers too.

It was a few weeks into the tour when he noticed that his number two shirt was missing from wardrobe. He figured maybe it was getting laundered, and a few days later when number sixteen was also missing he assumed the same thing. It wasn’t until a few months into the tour when he realized his rack was a lot roomier than it had once been that there might have been a problem. He asked wardrobe – they’d assumed he’d been taking them with him. He asked security – they’d not seen anyone enter or leave with the shirts. He asked Morleigh – she assured him that he hadn’t been taking them with him and had forgotten about it. She’d since gone back to Dublin, likely thinking he was losing the plot.

“I really don’t know what’s happening to them,” he said to Bono that night, after the mania of the night had died down and they had a few quiet moments to themselves in the secluded corner of a bar.  Bono looked at Edge’s shirt – he’d decided to leave his concert shirt on that night, mostly because it was the original number seven and he was worried that it would be next to disappear – then shrugged and shook his head and muttered something that Edge didn’t quite hear.

“Maybe we have moths?” Larry said.

“Moths that follow us from city to city?” Adam asked incredulously.

Larry shrugged. “Or goats.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “I’m sure security would have mentioned if they’d seen goats walking around backstage.”

“Then we’re back to moths. Oh fuck it, I don’t really care.” And with that, Larry left the table and joined Paul a few tables down.

“Anyway,” Edge said.

“How drunk is he?” Bono cut in.

Adam shrugged. “He’s been having coke.”

“Drinking or snorting?”

Edge gave up and went to get another round. When he returned, Bono was sitting alone, twirling a straw around his finger. “Where’d Adam go?”

“With a girl.” Edge had been gone for all of two minutes, but then, it was Adam. He sat down and slid two full glasses Bono’s way. Bono smirked. “Are you trying to ply me full of drink so you can take advantage of me, The Edge?”

“It was meant for Adam, I swear.”

“Mmhmm.”  They drank in silence for a minute, and then Bono looked at him with a crooked grin. “You don’t have to get me drunk to get into my pants, Edge.”

“Oh, I know that very well. It does make you easier, though.”

Bono raised an eyebrow. “Easier?”

“Mmm. You’re much more focused on the task at hand when you’ve had a few.”

“Oh, I thought you were calling me loose.”

Edge smiled. “If the shoe fits.”

Bono kicked him under the table, but he was laughing, and an hour later they were in the elevator alone with his hand in Bono’s hair and Bono breathing hotly in his ear, “your room is closer.”

Edge couldn’t argue with that - no matter how much nicer Bono’s room probably was - not when Bono’s hand was stroking his chest the way that it was.

He awoke tired the next morning, and the early morning light filling the room reminded him that he’d forgotten to close the curtains the night before. Bono was sleeping soundly next to him, one hand curled under him, the other loosely tangled in the shirt Edge had quickly discarded a few hours earlier. Edge blinked blearily at him, then rolled over and went back to sleep.

It was a few days later when he noticed Bono was travelling with an extra bag that had not been present when the tour had first began. “Gifts from the fans, Edge,” Bono explained when Edge questioned him on it.

They’d been getting gifts from fans since their fan numbers were double digits, and Edge knew that Bono kept many of the gifts, but he also knew Bono handed them off to someone else to get them home safely otherwise they got lost quickly, because Bono was Bono. But he smiled and nodded and commented how they really did have the best fans in the world.

A new stack of shirts were waiting for him when they next reached wardrobe, comfy and easy and red with numbers printed boldly on the front of them.  They were quickly hung on his rack once counted, and Edge stared at them, wondering how long they would survive. Bono appeared at his side, and slung one easy arm over his shoulder.  The other arm reached towards the shirts and he rubbed a red sleeve between his fingers. “Nice rack, Edge.” He gave Edge a squeeze and then went to bother Larry, and Edge couldn’t help but watch him go. A weird thought was beginning to formulate in his mind. Well, weird for most. With Bono, he’d learned pretty quickly in life, weird was normal.

“It’s nice to have a full selection of shirts to choose from again,” he said to Bono that night, after the mania of the night had died down and they had a few quiet moments to themselves in the secluded corner of a bar.

Bono smiled and raised his glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

Larry stood up and left the table. Adam just looked bemused.

It was about an hour later that they ended up in the elevator. Adam was talking about a football game that had taken place that day. Edge had no idea what teams had played, he was sure Adam had mentioned it, but he was distracted. Bono was fidgeting with the zipper on his jacket, his brow furrowed and Edge could almost feel his frustration seeping into the air. Adam either didn’t notice or care, just continued on and Edge kept on making noises that he hoped made it sound like he was listening.

They reached their floor and said their goodnights, and as soon as Adam’s door closed, Bono turned to Edge with that look on his face. He opened his mouth, but Edge got in first. “Your room is closer.”

Bono was nothing though, if not a master negotiator, and it’s was Edge’s room that they ended up slipping into. Edge was a bit frustrated, but mostly impressed, which summed up life with Bono down to the letter.

He refused to give up on that weird thought though, and after a week went by and his shirt count went down by one, he knew something drastic had to be done before he lost his mind.

It was easy enough to get into Bono’s room – there was always a spare key card for their rooms hanging around security in case any incidents occurred – and it wouldn’t be the first time he’d gotten someone to hand said key card over. Usually he made up some bullshit lie about Bono borrowing something of his that he needed, and he often wondered if security bought it, because Bono often pulled the exact same lie to break into Edge’s room.

But that night, he didn’t bother with the lie, just said he needed the key card and John smiled and nodded and handed it over without a word, and Edge went back to his own room to wait. It was still too early, so he had a shower and watched some TV and then when he was confident enough, he left his room and headed down the hall.

The room was dark when Edge entered, with just enough light seeping in from the city nightlife outside to assist Edge in not tripping over anything that Bono might have left lying around. He found the bedroom quick enough and could hear Bono before he could see him. He turned on the light in the adjoining bathroom and waited, but the quiet snores continued like he’d assumed they would. Bono could sleep through a hurricane. Sometimes it made Edge worry about him.

But now that he could see Bono properly, laying there on his side with the covers falling around his waist, worry was far from his mind. He was half tempted to pull the pillow out from under Bono’s head and smother him with it, because it had been _months_ of frustration and confusion. But Bono looked so peaceful, curled up in Edge’s number sixteen shirt, that the anger quickly slipped away. He glanced around the room til he found the offending new bag, and even though he knew what was in there, he still had to check. He pulled out a handful of red shirts to investigate, then stuffed them back in the bag and got up to stand back next to the bed.

“You are so fucking weird,” he whispered and after a full minute of staring at Bono, he went and turned off the bathroom light and then climbed into bed. Bono unconsciously turned towards him, and Edge couldn’t help it; he smiled and closed his eyes.

There was a shuffling beside him that woke him up, and Edge was warm and comfortable and wanted nothing more than to roll over and go back to sleep, but then he remembered.

He was face to face with Bono, who was staring at him with giant blue eyes, the covers pulled up under his chin as if he was hiding something. “What are you doing here?” Bono hissed.

“Good morning, Bono.” Edge sat up and stretched. “What time is it?”

“Edge.”

“Bono?” He stared at Bono, who was still staring at him with that same look on his face, and he tried so hard to stay serious, but soon enough he broke into a grin. “This is – Bono, this is weird, even for you.”

Bono squeezed his eyes shut and fell onto his back, the covers falling lax over his chest.  “I fucking know. Edge, I just – I took one, just one and then, I -” He cut himself off with a frustrated groan. “I can’t explain it. I may be sick.”

“I wouldn’t say that. Is it, like, you know. A fetish?”

Bono opened his eyes and looked at him. Really looked at him, in a way that made Edge expect some serious admission was about to come. But he just sighed and said, pitifully, “They’re just, they’re _you._ And they smell like you.”

Edge wanted to pull Bono close and love him, to get that look off his face, he really did, but he settled for a hand on the shoulder, because the tiniest percentage of him still wanted to smother him with a pillow. “Do you alternate them or do you just stick with sixteen?”

Bono glared at him. “I’m leaving this bed.”

But he didn’t make a move to leave, and Edge soon pulled him close until Bono relented and broke into a smile, and Edge shook his head and murmured, “you and your numbers.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for bonojour on tumblr who said
> 
> I want a fic where Bono snuggles up in Edge’s numbered Elevation shirts. And Edge just doesn’t notice because he’s got enough of those until at some point he runs out of them and finds out that Bono’s sleeping in a nest of numbered shirts.
> 
> It's a crack premise, and I LOVED it so much I had to write it, so it's a bit cracky and the characters are a bit broad, but who cares?


End file.
